Miss Betty had begun by making a pretence to eat, only to please the old man, but the vain woman's cookery had been not unduly extolled, and Nelson laughed with pleasure to see the fluffy hiscuits and the chicken wing not nibbled at but actually eaten. This was a healthy young lady, he thought, one who would do the household credit and justify the extravagant pride which kitchen and stable already had in her. He was an old house-servant, therefore he had seen many young ladies go through unhappy hours, and he admired Miss Betty the more because she was the first who had indulged in strong weeping and did not snuffle at intervals afterward. He understood perfectly everything that had passed between father and daughter that morning.
When her breakfast was finished, she turned slowly to the window, and, while her eyes did not refill, a slight twitching of the upper lids made him believe that she was going over the whole scene again in her mind; whereupon he began to move briskly about the room with a busy air, picking up her napkin, dusting a chair with his hand, exchanging the position of the andirons in the fireplace; and, apparently discovering that the por- trait of Georges Meilhac was out of line, he set it awry, then straight again, the while be hummed an old "spiritual" of which only the words "Chain de Lion Down" were allowed to be quite audible. They were repeated often, and at each repetition of them he seemed profoundly, though decorously, amused, in a way which might have led to a conjecture that the refrain bore some distant reference to his master's eccentricity of temper. At first be chuckled softly, but at the final iteration of "Chain de Lion Down" burst into outright laughter.
"Honey, my Law!" he exclaimed, "But yo' pa de `ceivin'dest man! He mighty proud er you!"
"Proud of me!" She turned to him in astonishment.
Nelson's laughter increased. "Hain't be jass de `ceivin'dest man! Yessuh, he de sot-uppest man in dis town `count what you done last night. What he say dis mawn', dat jass his way!"
"Ah, no!" said Miss Betty, sadly.
"Yes'm! He proud er you, but he teahbul mad at dat man. He hain't mad at you, but he gotter cuss somebody! Jass reach out fo' de nighes' he kin lay han's on, an' dis mawn' it happen soze it were you, honey. Uhuh! You oughter hearn him ins' night when he come home. Den it were me. Bless God, I ain't keerin'. He weren't mad at me, no mo'n' he were at you. He jass mad!"
Miss Betty looked at the old fellow keenly. He remained, however, apparently unconscious of her scrutiny, and occupied himself with preparations for removing the tray.
"Nelson, what is the quarrel between my father and Mr. Vanrevel?"
He had lifted the tray, but set it down precipitately, bending upon her a surprised and sobered countenance.
"Missy," he said, gravely, "Dey big trouble `twix' dem two."
"I know," she returned quietly. "What is it?"
"Wha' fo' you ax me, Missy?"
"Because you're the only one I can ask. I don't know anyone here well enough, except you."
Nelson's lips puckered solemnly. "Mist' Vanrevel vote Whig; but he ag'in Texas."
"Well, what if he is?"
"Yo' pa mighty strong fo' Texas."
"No'm, dat ain't hardly de beginnin'. Mist' lanrevel he a Ab'litionist."
"Well? Won't you tell me?"
"Honey, folks roun' heah mos' on `em like Mist' Vanrevel so well dey ain't hole it up ag'in' him-- but, Missy, ef dey one thing topper God's worl' yo' pa do desp'itly and contestably despise, hate, cuss, an' outrageously `bominate wuss'n' a yaller August spiduh it are a Ab'litionist! He want stomple `em eve'y las' one under he boot-heel, `cep'n dat one Mist' Crailey Gray. Dey's a considabul sprinklin' er dem Ab'litionists `bout de kentry, honey; dey's mo' dat don' know w'ich dey is; an' dey's mo' still dat don' keer. Soze dat why dey go git up a quo'l twix' yo' pa an' dat man; an' `range to have `er on a platfawm, de yeah `fo' de las' campaign; an', suh, dey call de quo'l a de-bate; an' all de folks come in f'um de kentry, an' all de folks in town come, too. De whole possetucky on `em sit an' listen.
"Fus' yo' pa talk; den Mist' Vanrevel, bofe on `em mighty cole an' civilized. Den yo' pa git wo'm up, Missy, like he do, `case he so useter have his own way; `tain't his fault, he jass cain't help hollerin' an' cussin' if anybody `pose him; but Mist' Vanrevel he jass as suvvige, but he stay cole, w'ich make yo' pa all de hotter. He holler mighty strong, Missy, an' some de back ranks `gun snickerin' at him. Uhuh! He fa'r jump, he did; an' den bimeby Mist' Vanrevel he say dat no man oughter be given de pilverige to sell another, ner to wollop him wid a blacksnake, whether he `buse dat pilverige er not. `My honabul `ponent,' s's he, `Mist' Carewe, rep'sent in hisseif de `ristocratic slave-ownin' class er de Souf, do' he live in de Nawf an' `ploy free labor; yit it sca'sely to be b'lieve dat any er you would willin'ly trus' him wid de powah er life an' death ovah yo' own chillun, w'ich is virchously what de slave-ownah p'sess.'
"Missy, you jass oughter see yo' pa den! He blue in de face an' dance de quadrille on de boa'ds. He leave his cha'h, git up, an' run `cross to de odder side de platfawm, an' shake be fis' ovah dat man's head, an' screech out how it all lies dat de slaves evah `ceive sich a treatments. `Dat all lies, you pu'juh!' he holler. `All lies, you misabul thief,' he holler.
`All lies, an' you know it, you low-bawn slandah' an' scoun'le!'
"An' wid dat Mist' Vanrevel, be laff in yo' pa face, an' tuhn to de crowd, he did, an' say: `You reckon dat if dish yuh man a slave-ownah, an' a slave had anguhed him as I have anguhed him tonight, does any er you b'lieve dat dat slave wouldn' be tied up an' whipped tell de blood run, an' den sole down de rivuh to-morrer?'
